


Thomas and Randy In Backyard Boizu

by guineaDogs, orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: Humor, M/M, Mansplaining, No Smut, Randy Week, Randy Week 2019, Randy is drunk, Randysplaining, but what else is new, rated for mature themes, top/bottom discourse, wholesome neighborhood barbecues gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 12:56:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20693894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineaDogs/pseuds/guineaDogs, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ever since the short-lived popularity of yaoi art in the town of South Park, Randy has considered himself something of an expert on gayness. He knows that not only does Japan decide who is and isn't gay, they have also instated certain rules to which gay couples must abide. It's a shame Craig and Kyle know nothing of their own culture--luckily, Randy is there to save the day, and educate their clueless, young minds.Written for Randy Week, day 4: Randy-splaining





	Thomas and Randy In Backyard Boizu

**Author's Note:**

> This was a blast to write. Hope you enjoy!

They didn't do this sort of thing so often anymore. 

When the kids were children, neighborhood barbecues were common. Bring your own beer, bring some slaw, beans, tater salad. Inevitably someone would bring chili—both green and red, of course—and one of the men would man the grill with a couple brewskies.

Typically, he was the one who had that honor. After all, if anyone on Avenue de los Mexicanos knew their way around some meat, it was him.  _ (It's the seasonings, Sharon. God _ .) Sure, Slave and Al knew handled meat all the time but that was different, and they lived on a totally different street. But the same could be said about him: he did live on a farm now. 

Still, everyone who was anyone was invited. They were all older now, but they were all in Thomas's backyard anyway. Whereas before there would've been a backyard filled with children running around and playing while adults drank and chatted, this one was particularly devoid of the screaming and antics. Some of the kids were there, but they were all in their early twenties now, tucked away on other parts of the lawn.

Randy Marsh would never describe himself as an old fuddy-duddy, but everyone else at this party absolutely was. Locally sourced growler in hand and plate in the other, he sat down at a picnic table with Thomas. Meat cooked, his plate was stacked with delicious foods. 

"Good barbecue, Thomas," Randy said, complimenting his long-time friend. "Shame so many of the boys suddenly 'couldn't make it.' What's yours up to these days, anyway? Haven't seen him around yet."

"Oh, y'know. College stuff. Thinks he's gonna be some kinda scientist. Good on him, really. Him and some of 'the guys'"—Thomas punctuated this with air-quotes as he leaned back in his lawn chair—"Are going camping this weekend. Come to think of it, I think your boy is going with."

Randy knew about that. Stan had been moping around the house like he was in high school again all summer break, avoiding all familial obligations like the plague. Someday Randy and Sharon would be old, and die, and then what, Stanley? Bet he'd regret not going to that particular barbecue at Thomas Tucker's house during his sophomore year then.

"Oh, yeah, Stannie said something about that. I told him they better be careful out there. Heard there's another Scuzzlebutt in the mountains."

"Maybe your boy will kill that one too," Thomas replied. The statement was timed perfectly with a swig of his beer, right from the bottle. As cutting as his tone was, he wasn't actually shading Stan. The kid had only killed the only known member of that species of... whatever Scuzzlebutt was supposed to be. 

Randy grunted, chewing diligently on some steak. "Hey...don't be dissin' my boy, now. He tries very hard not to be a pussy."

"Craig's never been a pussy." Thomas swigged his organic, gluten-free Budweiser once more. It was implied, but not said— _ unlike your boy, Randy _ . Although the impulse to chug his beer and swing the empty bottle at his neighbor was there, he chose to ignore it, for now. "Gay as all get out, but far from a pussy. You know he's dating Gerald's boy now?"

Randy felt his skin crawl. "The Canadian one? Oh, shit, man, Ike's way too young for him. Listen, I'm PC, so I know how to handle—"

"No, damn it, the other one."

It took a minute for Randy to process what he was being told. " _ Kyle _ ?" He sputtered, spewing his artisanal, locally sourced beer across the table. "I thought he was butt buddies with Stan." Kids these days. Randy just couldn't keep up with it all. "You know they used to spend a lot of time together. Told Stan it was unhealthy to be going around doin' that." 

Thomas shrugged. Randy wasn't surprised that Thomas didn't have any sort of input to add to this. He wouldn't know what a healthy relationship was if it smacked him in the face. 

This of course, meant that Randy opted to keep talking. "Guess he has a type."

"They're both smart kids. Much better than that boy Craig used to go around with. Got a pretty penny from some of the art, though," Thomas articulated around a bite of hamburger.

"Oh, yeah." Randy remembered that whole incident quite well. To this day, he remained confident that he educated Stan so well on what it meant to be gay. Always thought it was funny that he even asked in the first place, but he'd been on-and-off with the Testaburger girl for goodness even knew how long, so it must've done the trick. "You know, I think it's great that when Japan decided Craig was going to be gay, he just rolled with it. "

"I never quite understood why he'd go for another dick like that when there's some perfectly good poon out there, but yanno. He's happy and making good responsible choices. I'm proud of him." 

"Well." Randy's tone indicated a dissenting opinion, but he didn't elaborate until he shoveled some slaw down his throat. "In his case it would be ass."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm just saying. He's your height so he's what, 6'5", 6'7"? He's obviously the one doing the dicking."

"Randy—"

"Listen, Tom, I know how this works." He took a pull of his lager. The taste of organic, fair-trade, local beer with a 6.7% alcohol content was both refreshing, and unique. It was the true PC way of drinking beer. Supporting local businesses, and getting absolutely goddamn hammered at the same time. Richard Tweak, God rest his soul, would've been proud of him. "And you should too, being—" he burped. It tasted of hops and mayonnaise. "—being an avid yaoi collector, yourself. Everybody knows that Japan decided that the  _ see-mee _ —"

"Hey, dad. Mr. Marsh."

Randy looked over his shoulder to see Craig and Kyle standing beside each other. Both were strapping young men who fortunately didn't take after their fathers too much. Their fingers were laced, and Kyle was carrying something covered in canvas over his shoulder—

"Mr. Marsh. Mr. Tucker."

Thomas smiled at them. "Why don't you boys have a seat. And Kyle, you know you can call me Thomas." Kyle's expression indicated that he couldn't quite grasp that concept.

"We have to get going, Dad, the guys—"

"Wait," Randy abruptly interrupted. "Craig, why are you making Kyle carry things?"

"What." Craig let go of Kyle's hand, unceremoniously plopping himself upon an empty chair before cracking his knuckles, and crossing his legs knee-over-ankle. That alone was an indicator. Craig was The Man in this relationship, for sure.

" _ Jussayin _ , Craig, being that he's the  _ yoo-key _ and all." Damn. The beer was beginning to take hold.

_ Buckle up, old man, the liquor's callin' the shots now,  _ Randy thought to himself.

Thomas huffed. "Not this nonsense again." The slight narrowing of his eyes, and the way his head cocked to the side, however, betrayed that he was definitely listening.

"The what." Kyle's voice was dry, devoid of any sort of sort of emotion. It was like he had something stuck up his ass, but the perplexing thing was that he seemed so unhappy about it. Wouldn't that have been something he was into? 

Randy hardly paid it any mind, though. He knew that Kyle was a hormonal rage monster just like his mother, and he wouldn't have been surprised if Kyle didn't make up for it by bleeding from his ass. "Oh, come on, don't tell me you don't know anything about your own culture. Kyle, have a seat—"

"No."

"That uncomfortable, huh? Shit." Randy looked over his shoulder, hollering. "Hey Sharon, we got that donut around in the truck anywhere?"

His wife stood a few yards away, deep in conversation with the McCormick's, smiling beautifully. The moment she heard Randy, however, her smile faltered. She glanced his way for but a second, brows knitting together in the center of her forehead, eyes narrowing, before taking a breath that was visible from even as far away as Randy sat, and continuing her conversation.

_ Bitch. _

"Get to whatever point you're trying to make." Kyle gave Craig a pointed look as he added. "We have places to go." Which was just further evidence to support his theory. The bitchy ones always took it up the ass.

Randy cleared his throat, putting on his best well-informed and scientific voice. "Thomas and I were just talking about how Craig is the  _ see-mee _ and you are the  _ yoo-key _ in this relationship."

" _ He _ was talking about that," Thomas said, flatly, although he was just about drowned out by the scoffs of his son, and his son's bottom bitch. That was what the kids these days called it, right?

"I certainly was talkin' about that. You know, with the yaoi. The Maui Zowie. The... powie." Randy had to tilt his head back to empty the rest of his growler into his mouth. The thing was, if he used a plastic cup, it would be wasteful, and harmful to the environment and the ocean and all that shit. Best to just drink directly from the source. Waste not, want not, and all.

Randy wiped his mouth, and reached for the unopened growler on the ground. It was getting a little warm, but, whatever. The effect was the same whether it was cold or not. In the process, he just about knocked his paper plate, laden with an uneaten veggie dog and a few cubes of pale, crunchy honeydew melon that Randy never really cared for.

Veggie dog.

This was the perfect time for a visual demonstration.

"It's really disheartening to hear that you both don't know about your culture," he said, continuing where he left off, back before he got distracted by Kyle's sore asshole. "But fortunately I'm an expert in the field—and Craig, your father is well-informed as well. I'm sure he will be an invaluable resource if you have additional questions. Of course, you can always come to me. Kyle, you too. And you should really sit down."

"Absolutely not. And I don't want to hear about any of this."

"That's very close-minded of you." Randy clicked his tongue as he picked up his veggie dog, removing the length of faux meat from the bun. "In the simplest of terms, the  _ see-mee _ is the one who wears the pants in the relationship." He waved the veggie dog around. "To be more specific, he is explicitly the one to use his erect penis. The  _ yoo-key _ , in contrast, is the woman. He receives the penis in the ass like so." He slid the soymeat between the buns as if he were attempting to reenact Sausage Party. "Identifying the  _ see-mee _ and  _ yoo-key _ in some instances is easier than others. Traditionally, the  _ yoo-key _ is more effeminate and might even wear the clothing of the gender they're trying to be. But in other cases you have to look at physical attributes."

"That's fucking ridiculous." Craig pursed his lips. "Dad, we should really get going."

Thomas looked slightly green. Reaching beside him, to a small cooler filled with ice, he grabbed another Bud and cracked it open. "Want one, Craig?"

"He has to drive." Kyle's tone was like ice.

"You could drive," Craig supplied.

"No, no, no," drawled Randy, setting down the veggie dog and picking up the sweet, sweet nectar of the gods, if the gods were those guys with man-buns that ran the new microbrewery in Shi-Ti-Pa town. "As the _ see-mee _ in the relationship, it's your prerogative to do things like driving, and—Tom, man, you mean you had that icebox the whole time? My beer's getting warm!" For emphasis, Randy waved his growler. A bit of beer sloshed out of the top.

Thomas shrugged. That was as good of an indication as any for Randy to continue.

"You see, boys. Kyle, you're what..." He took a moment to eye them up. It was a bit difficult, given that Craig was seated, but Randy saw them when they'd first approached. He definitely wasn't wrong on this. "Five, six inches shorter than Craig? According to research, and Japanese tradition, the shorter of the two is always, without fail, the  _ yoo-key _ . And it's not just that. Kyle's delicate features, Craig's strong hands—"

"This is insane." Kyle spoke through gritted teeth. "I didn't want to drive because I'm stoned, okay?"

Thomas frowned. It was a look that Randy recognized: Craig definitely wasn't getting that beer. "If he's stoned why do you think he's in any shape to drive, Craig."

Craig faltered, stumbling over his words. Randy could've let him flounder, but he had more important questions. He was a man of tegridy, after all. "If you're stoned why are you acting like such a bitch? Please tell me you smoked ditch weed and not my high quality, organic-certified cannabis." 

"Craig we need to go."

"Hey! C'mon now. I'm not even done educating you."

"From one scientist to another, Mr. Marsh, I think we can figure it out on our own." Craig's voice was dripping in sarcasm. "And with all due respect, you're a geologist, not a biologist, so anything that people do in their bedroom—"

"And you know what, Mr. Marsh, we haven't even  _ had sex yet, so cut it OUT! _ "

It was like one of those moments in a movie where a record scratched, and everything stopped.

Thomas choked on his beer. Randy guffawed. All eyes were on Kyle. Of course, it was that moment that Gerald noticed that his son was there, and he walked over. "What's going on?"

"Kyle was saying how he and Craig haven't copulated yet." Randy was sure to use the most scientific-sounding word as a subtle way to jab at Craig for his sass. 

"Really?" Gerald was now looking at Kyle, and Kyle looked like he wanted to die. "You take after your mother in so many ways. I'm surprised this isn't one of them."

"Yeah, no. We're going." Kyle hoisted the canvas thing, since tossed upon the grass, over his shoulder, and swiftly grabbed Craig by his upper arm. 

It was the same kind of thing that Sharon did to Randy whenever he was trying to let loose and have a little fun. "Sorry the wife is bein' such a bitch, Craiggy. But, you know, there’s a first time for everything. Nothing like a camping trip to get the romance going." He took a pull of his sweet, life-giving drink. Beer sloshed down the front of Randy's 100% hemp Tegridy Farms t-shirt as he watched Craig get dragged along. Poor kid barely had the chance to squeak out a goodbye to his father, but was more than able to flip Randy the bird before disappearing into the sliding glass door of the Tucker house's back entrance.

Almost immediately, Randy returned to his beer. "How long has that been a thing?" If they were already at this stage in their relationship, and Craig still hadn't gotten nookie, Randy didn't have high hopes for its longevity.

"About two weeks—"

"A month—"

Randy glanced between the two other men. He didn't care to think about why he was receiving conflicting information when it all meant the same thing. "Damn. Sucks for Craig being stuck with a prude. Anyway, I'm thinking we have a little after party at my place. I've got a new hot tub..."

"I think I should go see what Sheila's up to." Gerald said it dryly, curtly, before rushing away in long strides.

"Pussy. You in, Tom?"

Thomas shrugged. Randy took that as a yes.


End file.
